Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dennis walked briskly, sneakers clattering under him on the cold, hard hospital floors as he tried his best to forget the latest incident. A quick glance around told him that luckily his nineth urine incident of the day was not lingering on anyone's mind; especially since he did not want to admit that he is tied— 9 for 9—with pee landing in his mouth and changing his scrubs… within ten hours. He swallowed, willing away the taste of hot, asshole 17 year old pee and looking to the board for his next patient.

McKay came to stand next to him, crossing her arms and pretending she hadn't just been giggling about that 17 year old asshole pissing in his mouth. She forced her amused grin into a small smile before she spoke.

"Stomach pains with the woman should be pretty easy." She rocked to bump him gently, keeping her eyes on the board. "Might help your track record of…" she paused, forcing down a giggle, "unfortunate reasons for dress change."

Dennis glanced up at her, his eyes hooding in realization. His shoulders slumped as he turned forward again. He answered dryly, "yeah, hopefully."

She turned on her heel, walking around the bay. Dennis followed her. He closed his eyes, silently hoping that something large would happen to make everyone forget about his clothing mishaps. When they opened again, Robby was in direct view, on the other side of the ED. He talked to Mohan—and based on her recent complaints—probably about how slow she was treating patients again. Dennis didn't focus on that.

Instead he focused on Robby, who was deep in his dialogue. He wore his blue sweatshirt, sleeves pulled up. It revealed his meaty arms, a sea of black strands with small fish of gray encasing them both. The sweatshirt sleeve tightened as he moved his arm, it's sleeve pulling tightly around the upper bicep as he crossed his arms, further exposing the bicep. Even from afar, where Dennis couldn't pick out each detail of the arms, was it still incredibly hot.

He then took a pause, suddenly remembering that he is thinking about a man that was not only almost twice his age, but had a decade on his father. He took a sharp inhale, willing away those thoughts too. He wondered if having to will away things that can be described as 'hot' was a trend today.

Finally, he focused on taking deep breaths, resolving that this was the only thing he didn't have to will away. He sped up, catching up with McKay and catching the tail end of whatever Santos was telling her.

"…yeah, and she's spewing something about God taking her here so she could find her daughter—super pious, maybe even Mormon?" She sighed, obviously tired from the other ten hours of her shift. "Beware."

McKay nodded, looking back at Dennis with a 'this is going to be something' face while motioning for an ultrasound cart. As Dennis walked to get the cart, however, his mind drifted elsewhere. A part of him had been triggered by the word 'Mormon' and he was now slightly amused by how appalled his mother would be about Dennis not only being a Trans Man, but also having a crush on his twice-his-age-boss.

Dennis walked into the room, subconsciously getting ready to start the verbal exam as he snapped his gloves on.

Holy shit. He froze. His feet felt rooted to the ground, almost as if he was a plant; a large oak tree, like the one in his yard when he was growing up. With this memory of the oak tree, memories of sitting under it while his mother gossiped about their neighbors over glasses of spiked ice tea came.

With those memories coming, a certain phrase of his mother's came to mind: "speak of the devil and he shall appear!"

Now, Dennis wondered if thinking of the devil would make her appear in the same fashion

The same phrase was said aloud. "Speak of the devil and she shall appear."

The voice was warm and motherly, like it had been after his father beat him for horseplaying with his brothers; for playing like a boy with those boys. The same voice explained this all to six year old Dennis in the same tone: It wasn't ladylike, he isn't ladylike.

Dennis didn't move, only gulping. The cart was forgotten, drifting toward McKay, who now stood awkwardly, sensing the tension. Santos gaped at the situation.

"I hoped the pastor didn't know what he was talking about…"

Dennis took a step back, finally thawed from the block of ice that trapped him.

"…but he was right. You've changed into an abomination…" Another step, sudden urgency coursing into his blood as he realized what the woman might say. Yet, he couldn't go; he was frozen as the woman got louder.

"…My sweet daughter has been tempted by the enemy…" A tear rolled down his cheek, one that he didn't even realize had collected in his eye.

"Where has my sweet Denise gone?"

The day Dennis started Testosterone, he got a call from his father: the oak tree that he sat under his entire childhood had uprooted in a storm.

In the same fashion, Dennis now uprooted from the floor.

His sneakers squeaked through the now silent ED as he ran for the stairs. He dodged everything he could, scurrying across the floor in the same fashion that the rats had done weeks before.

"Whitaker!" Robby called behind him, something between concern and distraught lacing his voice. Dennis didn't stop. He curved around the waiting room desk, swerving into the stairwell door and almost lunging to open it. He climbed the stairs in the same fashion as a rock climber climbing a mountain. He let out a violent sob that echoed through the stairwell, it's volume accurately representing the multitude of pain he felt.

With another left and finally a right, he made it into the room. He sighed, closing the door behind him before slamming his back into it and releasing the fire he held inside. His throat burned as he sobbed, his chest aching in something that resembled the tightness he'd feel from his binder after a longer-than-expected shift. In fact, that was what he was feeling. He panted, the tightness in his chest clashing with the tightness around his body, something like a too-tight rubber band squeezing open wounds.

This was the room he stayed in once he left that perverted pastor's home, the room he spent his first month working at PTMC. It held all of his pain, encasing it in a mason jar of pressure. He washed away his transphobic mother's voice in this room. Just as he would now, pulling himself up into the enclosure where the shower stood.

He was crying too much to stand, forcing himself to sit against the wall. He reached above him, turning the knob and feeling the cold water rush past him and through his now ruined pair of scrubs. He finally broke his record.

Something in him wanted to take the scrubs off, maybe his binder too. Taking a complete shower to wash away the pain he felt, similar to taking a shower after reminding your body of how much you hate it with a razor or a pencil sharpener. Though, this thought was rejected by the other part of him, reminding him of having to touch, to hold, to even graze the same body parts that the pastor had cupped in the same fashion when reminding Dennis of the glorys of being a woman.

The pastor that Dennis stayed with when he first moved to Pittsburgh. That Dennis, young and naive and just happy to leave the farm, thought Testosterone in a new city was a fresh start. He was no longer a woman in this city, but a strong, masculine man. This was a false reality for a while, until his mother sent a letter, asking that her sweet Denise would be kept safe by the pastor. The pastor that made sure to remind Denise the joys of being a young woman—of having a vagina; the pastor that was somehow a son of a cousin of an aunt of a brother of a friend of his sweet mother; the pastor who made sure to send a letter back the day after Dennis ran away, warning of her daughter's sins.

Dennis pushed out another ball of fire in his next sob, resembling a scream. He pushed himself forward, now lying under the cold water. His head lay where the spray met the tiled floor, water pooling between the enclosure between his head and arms, splashing into his nose and coming close to drowning him.

"I hoped the pastor didn't know what he was talking about…" The words repeated in his head like a broken record. Water now filled his ears, leaving him with his thoughts. It was that fucking pastor's fault. He had made it out, gotten out of this room and was leaving with a good roommate. His mother would not have known that her daughter was a son. Had that pastor not sent that letter back, she may not have even recognized Denise in Dennis's body.

Dennis closed his eyes, tightening his arm formation. The water level now past his nose, and he didn't move. Not when he dully heard movement outside the door, boneless words turning to mush in his water filled ears. Not when he heard keys jingle, nor when the door opened. Not when two pairs of footsteps—one set light and airy, the other heavy and booming—came closer to him. Not when someone shrieked behind him—nor when he recognized that it was Trinity's voice.

Not when the same voice barely pierced through the ounces of water in his ear drum, "Is he…?"

Not when two meaty finger pressed into his carotid, nor when a deeper, more scruffy voice responded—even when he recognized that it was Robby, "Pulse active but thready."

Two thick hands hooked under his shoulders, pulling Dennis up and draining the water in his ears. Robby pulled Dennis out of the enclosure, into his chest. Dennis lay in his arms, cradled like a baby, eyes still closed.

Robby balled a fist, gently rubbing it to his chest, "Come on, big guy."

Dennis finally opened his eyes. He was dazed, coughing violently from the asphyxiation of the water. Much of it came from his mouth, spilling in a puddle on the floor. Trinity gasped. He looked up at her, now noticing that her eyes watered and a hand cupped her mouth. He wondered if that was because she was now realizing that she lived with a woman in disguise, or because she pitied him.

"I can't do this." She said before darting, leaving he and Robby alone. He still panted, forcing himself to pull in air despite the increased pain around his diaphragm.

Robby noticed his efforts, taking one of Dennis's hands and pressing it to his own chest. "Come on kid, you got this. Mimic me." Dennis felt more tears rolled down his cheeks, however, relieved by the warmth of Robby's hand around his own. Dennis worked to pull in air, tipping his head back to avoid Robby's gaze.

"Who was that?" Trinity asked, directed to Robby, breaking through the almost dead silence. Robby shrugged, frowning in thought. Dennis sobbed in thinking of the woman. Robby shushed the tears him calmingly, still holding his hand.

"The more you cry, the harder it is to breathe." Robby whispered, his tone soft to Dennis. Dennis sobbed harder at Robby's gentleness with him. Robby sat him up, tone still even as he spoke liked when he cooed his panicked patients, "you're okay, kid. You're safe."

Dennis shuddered, nodding. Robby continued, "She won't hurt you." Dennis pulled his head up again, making perfect eye contact with Robby. She already had hurt him. A soft, broken cry fell from his lips. God, his coworkers now knew. He couldn't escape it. Robby sighed, pulling Dennis into his chest. Dennis buried his hands in the sweatshirt, allowing himself to break down again, this time safe in Robby's arms.

…

Chapter Text

chapter two

…

Once again, Dennis walked briskly, sneakers clattering under him on the cold, hard hospital floors as he tried his best to forget the latest incident; though this time the incident wasn't dirtied scrubs or a pissy teenager. He kept his eyes trained on his sneakers, hands tied around his stethescope in a calming way. He hoped no one would bring it up; bring her up. Though, Dennis was unaware if the 'her' in question was his mother or himself.

He glanced up at the board, eyes trained there and fighting not to look across the ED, to the room where his mother slept. Water pierced his corneas again, pooling in his eyes socket, threatening release.

"Hey." The voice next to him was deep, quiet in the exceptionally loud ED. He looked over to see Robby standing next to him, smiling through his beard. Robby's arms bulged as he interlinked his hands in front of him. His eyes were tired but soft as they grazed over Dennis, scaling him up and down.

"Hi," Dennis replied just as softly. He wondered if his eyes were still red from the sobbing fit he had just had into Robby's sweatshirt. Taking a look over of Robby now, he noticed the blue jacket was missing.

"Sorry if I… made a mess." Dennis's eyes averted. Robby only nodded, smiling soft and careful.

"You know," Robby stepped closer, evading Dennis's space. Dennis felt the need to step back but didn't, "You can go home, if you need. No one would fault you for that."

Dennis gulped, between the slight heat of Robby's voice and the radiating heat of his torso, Dennis felt as he if had a fever. He looked down, looking away again but the man placed his hand into the crook between his shoulder and neck, pulling Dennis's eyes back to meet his. His thumb rubbed back and forth gently, obviously waiting for a response, which Dennis had forgotten.

"Um…" He gulped again, this time because Robby's eye contact was unwavering, "I think I just want to finish the day."

Robby nodded. His hand gently caressed Dennis's shoulder, comfortingly massaging his palm into the open skin. His voice still soft with that special kind of quiet that wasn't even reserved for patients, something Dennis hadn't heard on anyone other than him, as he spoke.

"Alrighty." He said this like a dad talking to their child, playful, maybe meant to cheer them up or keep a positive attitude. Dennis wanted to moan at the thought of Robby being something of a father figure to him; he thought about the joke Trinity had made a few nights ago: calling an older guy on TV 'daddy' because he was as old as her father. He then remembered that Robby was about a decade older than his father. He shivered in a good kind of way at that thought.

Robby seemingly felt that shiver, looking at Dennis with that same fatherly concern as before, "You sure you okay?"

Dennis smiled at the concern, pulling his lip between his teeth as an anxious tic before responding, "I'm fine."

Robby nodded, smiling coming back and eyes hooding. Dennis could have sworn he noticed them glance to his lips. He gazed deeply into them, allowing himself to be pulled into a haze, surrounded by Robby, Robby, Robby, loud voices filling him with love and adoration, and a large fucking amount of lust and—

"So, Mr. Marshall then?"

Dennis was pulled out of his fantasy, once again, by Robby's voice. He hummed in confusion, similar to the way that guy who preeched 'keep it in the family!' responded when Dennis said he had caught a deadly disease from being his sister's son.

Robby let out a mix between a dry chuckle and a sigh, "Go home, Whitaker." This time massaging his eyebrows as if this was starting to annoy him.

"I only have an hour left!" Dennis pouted, his eyes becoming big and buggy in an effort to confess Robby.

Robby sighed again, rolling his eyes before leaning down to Dennis's eye level, hand still tight on his shoulder and tightening by the second, "Then get in the game."

Dennis only swallowed, his immediate thought being to shout back that Robby was the one keeping him out of the game. However, he didn't have much time to iterate this when Robby walked passed him, assuming Dennis would follow. Dennis did, thinking of Robby calling him a 'good puppy' for following like a dog.

The haze of Robby, Robby, Robby chanting thickened around him again as he followed Robby around the nurse bay to another patient room. The haze became so thick that Dennis drowned out his surroundings, unintentionally ignoring the fact that this patient room was dangerously close to his mother's.

The haze muted his surroundings, drowning out his mother noticing him and beginning to shout again. The chanting haze became louder when Robby turned around again, eyes filled with worry. The haze obviously hadn't encapsulated him too, making him fully aware of Dennis's mother. Though, Dennis must've been looking at him with so much puppylike love—and lust—that Robby smiled at him and continued.

The pink smoke of need Robby, love Robby around him filled his eyesight, narrowing it to the older man and Dennis sighed. This pink smoke closed him in so much that he hadn't noticed when just moments before he sighed, his older brothers—four men he hadn't even known were in the hospital, let alone in the room with his mother and very much able to see him when she started her cries—started to charge at him. In fact, he was only able to figure this out when Robby was turning around again, mere feet away from Mr. Marshall's room, and eyes filling with nothing other than pure horror for Dennis. Dennis wouldn't figure out why this was until he was on the ground.

Three of four brothers essentially trampled him in an effort to get to him all at once, the other pulling Dennis from under them and restricting his limbs. They were back up in seconds, breaking Dennis's haze and replacing it with a new haze of dizziness once the first blow landed.

It was straight to his face, instantly sending blood flying from his nostrils and spit swirling from his lips on impact. The second and third blows, however, were what restricted Dennis's breathing, one straight into his diaphram, square between his breasts if he hadn't had his binder on, the other directly under that, seemingly with the added force of a wedding band or ring. Dennis looked up to see that it was Donny, the second oldest; and if he wasn't currently being beaten to a pulp, maybe off across the nurse bay, barely able to make out the black band but still seeing it glimmer, he would smile and silently congratulate his brother for sucessfully finding a woman to love unconditionally forever.

Why can't his parents love him uncontionally forever? The fourth blow was again to his face, the assaliant unknown as this was the one to almost knock him out, sending him limp in the eldest's, Wally's, grasp. And why couldn't they teach their fucking kids to be better than them?

Dennis didn't remember the fifth nor sixth blow clearly, just that they were to much more painful to be fists, maybe knees or elbows or feet. The seventh wasn't much of a blow and more of a throw to the ground, Wally obviously having had enough of holding him and wanting to get his share of beating in.

The eight, ninth, tenth, and any others that Dennis couldn't remember after that were indescriptable in his memory but still all the painful. By what he estimated to be the twenty-third or twenty-fourth blow, Dennis was finally unconscious after the adrenaline was to little against the mighty sedative of pain: both physical and mental.

…